The sound of the waves drifted in through the half-open apartment window. Conrad had learned to sleep with that constant murmur of the sea, as if it were lulling him into a lull. He was in his thirties and worked as a general practitioner in a private hospital in the city; he always returned to the coast on weekends. It was his refuge.

That morning, the coffee steamed in his cup as he went over some notes in meticulous handwriting. He no longer seemed as lost as he had in his younger days: the shadows were still there, but he'd found a way to live with them without letting them consume him.

The phone vibrated. Jeremiah. He always called early, as if he wanted to make sure his brother hadn't withdrawn into himself again. Conrad excitedly answered: "Are you alive?" Jeremiah joked. "More than you think."

They hung up laughing. It was different now: lighter, not so many open wounds.

Conrad put the cup aside and went for a walk along the shore. There were children playing, whole families settled under umbrellas. He stopped to watch, with that serious air that had never left him, and thought that maybe one day he would be there too, with his own children running on the sand, although he would need a partner for that.

He adjusted his sunglasses and continued walking. No one would have guessed it, but silently, Conrad Fisher was at peace with himself. For the first time in years.

Conrad walks for a few hours along the seashore, until he's tired enough to stop at a nearby restaurant with an ocean view.

He sits in a chair with a sigh, looking out the large window as the waves crash onto the shore.

He takes off his sunglasses, running a hand through his hair when he feels someone's presence nearby. It's a smiling, young girl, perhaps the waitress.

Conrad spends his entire lunch in silence, glancing at the waitress, watching her talk to other waitresses, sometimes laughing.

That same afternoon, when he finishes paying the bill, he decides to leave her his phone number and a piece of paper hidden among the tip. Conrad Fisher isn't a man used to doing this kind of thing; he hasn't even had a steady relationship since belly.

He spends the entire night with growing anxiety, almost regretting having left her his number, until that same night. She calls.

After a couple of days of talking and calling, Nicole and Conrad decide to go on a date at a restaurant near the beach.

The restaurant was lit with soft lanterns, reflecting a warm glow off the wine glasses. Conrad, wearing a white shirt rolled up to his elbows, was absentmindedly playing with the rim of his glass. He wasn't someone who particularly enjoyed first dates; the awkward silence always unnerved him.

But when she laughed, something loosened inside him.

"Are you always this quiet?" she asked with a half smile.

Conrad looked up in surprise and bit his lip, the way he usually did when caught in his thoughts.

"No," he finally said, leaning forward a little. "Only when I'm thinking too hard about what to say so I don't screw it up."